The Valiant Few

Isn't it funny how poetry is full of sorrow,
I write, and write, until there's no tomorrow.

Don't get me wrong, it's just an observation,
Is it a release, a sanctuary, escape, or momentary vacation?
They're all the same thing really
A coping mechanism, clearly.

A creation from your negativity, or your cry for attention?
Wanting, needing, craving human affection.

An applause, a standing ovation for the beauty of your doom,
When really, your just sat in an empty room.
Reaching to darkest of your mind,
For that tiny ounce of relatable despair that you might find.

Something to hit a chord, to tug at the heart strings.
Something to make them think "Shit, that really fucking stings".

Waiting for the next day, when really it just blends into one;
"Hey, maybe I'll wake up with some positivity my mind has just spun"

This is the crescendo of a pit that's deeper than ever,
You say you've hit rock bottom, but never never never.
That place is for the valiant few
Who will trade their dignity for a lyrical spew
Reach for the pills and count to ten
Take them back and change your mind again
Run for another and let them help you
It's just a cry for love, why don't you take a pew.
The line grows longer as vulnerability grows wider.
Then you ask why your Father's a liar
Saying life is bright and full of joy
When all you are is a dummy for people to annoy.
Why would they do that?
But really it's just on yourself,
Only sadness comes when you gladly put happiness on a shelf.

This is an observation of my mind, not yours
But if you find this relatable
My ego begs
For your round of applause.